


Dinner on Telos

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Qui-Gon pays his old apprentice a visit. Vignette.





	Dinner on Telos

"If you could not accept the past and its burden there was no future, for without one there cannot be the other." -Robert Penn Warren

The blutig squid was an elusive creature, the kind drawn to the darkest and deepest catacombs of the Telosian seas. It was also beautiful, for a cephalopod anyway, with opalescent scales, delicate, curled tentacles and three hearts.

This particular blutig was blue-eyed, staring unblinkingly from its unfortunate vantage, nestled firmly on a dinner plate, wet appendages clinging to the cold Alderaani crystal.

Xanatos touched his fork to the edge of the plate and watched the creature quiver and shrink away. The blutig was a delicacy.

And deadly, on occasion.

Xanatos had designed The Crescent, his night club and restaurant, to strike a similar balance between exclusivity, allure and danger. It stood, in crisp geometric distinction, at the center of Telos' wealthiest district and in a few short months had developed a reputation as the of-the-moment hot spot for socialites and politicians.

A tentative rap drew his eyes to the door. "Come in, Trago."

As the young assistant entered, Xanatos heard the din of The Crescent's evening patrons, the clatter of utensils, the tasteful undercurrent of mood music. It made him all the more grateful for his private dining suite.

And for Trago, who was so often a buffer between Xanatos and his elite, insufferable clientele. The slender, brown haired human bowed to his employer. "Sir."

Xanatos resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the other man's obvious stress. "You're twitching more than the squid."

Trago flushed, eyes darting down in embarrassment. But he was a professional, or tried very hard to be, and regained his composure quickly. "Your forgiveness, Sir. But there is someone here demanding to speak with you."

Ah. He opened his senses, and there it was, that niggling unpleasantness, that twitch of his own. "Tell the old Jedi he is welcome to join me."

"…Of course, Sir."

Trago turned on his heel and was startled backwards by the towering, cloaked figure of Qui-Gon Jinn. "Oh, excuse me…" He muttered, glancing back at Xanatos with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness.

Xanatos sighed and waved away his beleaguered subordinate. He did not acknowledge the shadow in the doorway, instead returning his attention to the cowering blutig. With his shields lowered, he could feel the primitive, blind fear of the animal, its miserable drive to live.

He sighed. This was why he preferred distance from the Force. It asked him to pity assistants and squids.

And reminded him of former bonds, forged and destroyed by fire.

His gaze flicked upward. He saw fire in his former teacher now, an expertly reined conflagration, a tremble beneath the voluminous costume of the Order. It was surreal to see his ex-teacher, in his earthy browns and creams, juxtaposed against The Crescent's sleek black-silver modernity.

"You look…aged." Xanatos drawled. "And I hate to inform you, but your attire falls short of The Crescent's dress code."

The jab did not elicit so much as a snort from Jinn. He stalked over to the wide, obsidian table, face still shaded by his cowl, and spoke in a low, careful tone. "I know it was you."

Xanatos raised a brow. "Oh? What have I done now, vaunted Master?"

Qui-Gon pulled back his hood and fixed hard blue eyes on Xanatos. His hair was half-swept away from his face, graying at the temples. "I don't have time for your theatrics or games. I know you were on Malastare."

"Anyone can tell you, I spend the vast majority of my time right here. How do you like The Crescent, anyway?"

Qui-Gon took a quick visual survey. "Dark, cold, with artifice belying its lack of true substance." He smirked. "It isn't my taste, but I see why you would enjoy it."

Xanatos only laughed. "When I was twelve, that would've cut me to the core." He lifted his fork again and studied the shifting light reflected off the blutig's multicolor scales. He waited until the mournful, lidless eyes found his and then speared one of its tendrils.

Qui-Gon did not react to the deliberate cruelty, even as the injured squid squirmed in pain. "Those are poisonous."

Part of the lure of the culinary delicacy was the inherent danger. Most blutigs were harmless and flavorful. But a small percentage were fatal to certain species, including humans. Thus the sea creature was a favorite among adrenaline seekers, hardcore gamblers…

And former Jedi.

"Not always," Xanatos countered. Violet blood dripped onto the plate. "Of course, it's impossible to know until after it's too late."

Qui-Gon pulled the plate away. The crystal scraped sharply across the table. "A problem I've known well."

Xanatos leaned back in his chair and took a shallow sip of wine. "Padawans are always problems, aren't they? You never know which ones could kill you."

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. "I knew. I just, foolishly, thought I was immune to the poison."

It was too easy to look too long at the older man's face. He saw the wear of years, lines and shadows, but most of all, he saw desperation, sensed it in some vestige of their dead connection.

Qui-Gon Jinn was afraid.

A giddy thrill rushed through Xanatos before he could clamp it down. He forced himself to look away, regarding his wine glass with feigned interest. "At least you have your own walking anti-venom now, don't you? Your dutiful little disciple who would never question you from his place at your feet."

A flare of anger in the Force, swiftly subdued. "Credible sources place you on Malastare several weeks ago."

Xanatos felt the prod at his remaining mental shields. He ran a nonchalant hand through his hair. "I can find sources that say the moons of Iego are made of cheese." He shrugged, "Doesn't make it true."

Qui-Gon said nothing, weaving his arms inside his sleeves.

"Oh, just sit down, will you. Who wants a Jedi looming over them, attempting to look menacing?"

Surprisingly, Qui-Gon acquiesced, settling in the chair opposite Xanatos. He rubbed his beard and exhaled. Shadow clung to the lines around his eyes, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "I told you, no games." He fixed that perfectly Jedi gaze, stoic and chiding and so damn superior, on his former pupil. "We both know the truth."

A raucous swell of laughter floated up from the crowd outside. Xanatos smiled. "The truth, my Master," and he paused to savor the reactive flinch, "is that I keep to myself these days. The Crescent is incredibly successful." He brought the wine glass to his lips for a long, indulgent taste, the notes sweeter with Qui-Gon watching. "My Offworld days are long behind me, nearly as long as my days wasted among the Jedi."

"You were the one who decided to waste them, Xanatos."

The squid was bleeding out in front of them. Xanatos traced a fingertip along the plate's edge. "Forgive my manners, Master Jinn. You've come to visit my restaurant, and I haven't even offered you a meal."

Qui-Gon looked at the dying creature. He passed his palm over it and stillness replaced futile writhing.

Xanatos covered the remains with a cloche. "Ah, well…I suppose it's the honorable thing to do, putting it out of its misery. Especially knowing what fate held for the poor soul."

Qui-Gon flew to his feet as the Force erupted and sparked, huge calloused hands gripping Xanatos' shoulders and nearly pulling him out of his chair. "Tell me how you did it!"

Xanatos would not be ruffled by the outburst. "I always thought you were like a wild dog. Untamed, and loyal to no one." He grinned. "And now here you are, barking and practically foaming at the mouth."

Qui-Gon dug his nails into Xanatos deeper before pushing him away. His chest heaved. "Your insults mean nothing to me. YOU mean nothing to me. And this false life you've built yourself will fall to ashes if you don't tell me what I want to know."

Xanatos swallowed a thick, bitter rise of unnamed emotion. He elegantly gathered his dark robes and stood, meeting Qui-Gon's glare. "Don't speak to me about a false life, Master," he hissed, "when you wear your lies so proudly. You storm in here and think you can shake answers out of me? What could I possibly owe you, the murderer of my father?"

Qui-Gon's eyes momentarily clouded with that old, conflicted pain. "Your father was a threat-"

"But he was my father!" Xanatos shouted back, the words leaping from his gut, from the hidden place inside himself. He spun towards the wall, blinking away sudden, unbidden moisture, raging at the loss of composure. His thoughts were scattered by the images of his father's corpse. He could smell the burning flesh from branding himself with the dead man's broken ring. The crescent scar still ached.

He gently touched the mottled skin around his eye. "It talks to me."

"What does?"

"The scar," he answered softly, turning to look at Qui-Gon again. "Where the Force failed, it has saved me. And it saved your Padawan."

Tendons strained and stood out on Qui-Gon's neck. "Saved him? You've taken everything from him!"

Xanatos decided that the most rare and fulfilling dish on Telos IV was the raw terror and impotent rage of a Jedi Master. He savored the pain marking those usually placid features, reveled in his victory after so many years.

"You have it all wrong, Master. I've given him a fresh start. That's worth a few lost memories."

"A few?" Qui-Gon growled, "He doesn't remember his name, let alone his training. You dumped him on Vakaj, a notorious prison planet. He could have been killed."

Xanatos took a half-step backward, a pantomime of offense. "Yes, but I could have just killed him outright. I didn't. That wasn't my aim, my Master. I assure you."

Qui-Gon's laughter was rasping and mirthless. "Is that how high your moral standards are, Xanatos?" Slowly, the façade of the aloof maverick began to crack; strands of hair fell in his eyes and his voice was unsteady, "You mind wipe my innocent Padawan and you want credit for not murdering him?"

"I couldn't care less about your opinions on morality. I'd find a better judge of that in a Hutt's lair." Xanatos scoffed. He took a turn around the sleek, dark room, enjoying the measured clicks of his boots against the metallic floor, coming to stop in front of the older man. He had almost forgotten how tall his former Master was, always looking down from that lofty view of superiority.

But at last, Xanatos had the upper hand. He peered into Qui-Gon's eyes. "I was only on Malastare for business, a half-day stop. Imagine my surprise when I happened to notice your apprentice, crossing the capital square, very much alone." He grinned at the tight set of his old mentor's jaw, sensing the churning guilt. "It was fate. Just like when you discovered my Force potential, all those years ago. And took me away from my family, my birthrights." The words were barbs poisoned with all the festered resentment inside of Xanatos, because every scheme, every failed attempt at change, everything in his damn life came back to this.

It all came back to Qui-Gon Jinn, no matter how he tried to insulate himself within the posh solitude of The Crescent.

And the cause of his torment and unrealized dreams stood before him, finally wounded in the way he deserved.

Xanatos could tell Qui-Gon was struggling to reply, as a great cloud obscured his proud aura in the Force, and the man momentarily shut his eyes.

"Obi-Wan had nothing to do with that. He was not yet born when I met you, an infant when we caused so much pain to each other."

Xanatos heard the protective tone of a father, and it pierced the fallen Jedi for a fleeting moment. "Exactly. On Malastare I realized the Force had granted me a singular opportunity, to save your Padawan from the suffering I endured as a pupil of Qui-Gon Jinn, and the despicable Jedi Order. I decided to do for Obi-Wan what I wish someone had done for me, by starting him on a new path of his own choosing."

Qui-Gon closed the narrow space between them, hands clenched into fists at his hips."You think he would've chosen this? Do you know what the effects of this Sith-cursed mind wipe are?"

Xanatos shrugged again, refusing to be subjugated. He was, after all, not a Padawan anymore."It was impulsive. I didn't exactly have time to do any research."

Qui-Gon shook his head, ire falling away into despair. He stepped back. "It's not just that he can't remember his life." A shuddering exhale, "He's not retaining anything he's been retaught. He is surrounded by strangers, most of all himself. His sleep is constantly disturbed by Force visions he can no longer control or understand." Qui-Gon looked away from Xanatos, his weariness more obvious as he continued, "Through the daily trials, watching him struggle in a maddening loop, I searched the Force for answers. Who could have done this? What monster would inflict this kind of suffering? And that's what I knew." He fastened his gaze on Xanatos. "You are not the boy I raised. And you're not a businessman or restaurateur. You're only a monster, Xanatos."

The Jedi Master did not, as Xanatos had hoped, sound defeated, or even horrified, but…dismissive. "I admit a foolish, buried part of me harbored the hope that you would find the Light again.. But now I realize you aren't worth that hope."

Xanatos stared at his grand dining table, where he always ate in silence. He saw his face reflected in the cold Telosian quartz and immediately turned away. It was true that his actions several months before on Malastare were hasty, driven by a sudden, overwhelming need to…to what?

"You were not swooping in to rescue Obi-Wan from me." Qui-Gon quietly told him, with all the disappointment and authority of a chiding teacher. "You envy him. Like a spoiled child, you didn't want him to have the things that were once yours." The man sighed. "Even though you threw those things away in the first place."

Xanatos shook his head in fervent denial, but the truth was seeping in through the holes in his deteriorating shields. A terrible bright heat burned in his temples, the frenzy that seized him in the square, seeing Kenobi not as the clumsy child, another hopeless cause of Qui-Gon Jinn, but as a skilled man on the brink of Knighthood, striding with the sun glowing about his shoulders, the long auburn braid swinging with every step.

It was the braid that choked Xanatos, that twisted around his mind and forced him to block the Padawan's path. The dead tissue beneath his scar had throbbed until his entire skull was beating with obsessive migraine.

He shook off the residual pain of the memory, studying his hands. "I didn't know the extent of the wipe." Xanatos admitted. He flexed his fingers, and quickly rubbed away a spot of the squid's blood that had dried on his skin.

Qui-Gon nodded, stone faced.

"The wipers knew he was Jedi. I suppose they were overly zealous."

"Yes," Qui-Gon almost whispered. "So you have accomplished what you set out to do twenty years ago. I can stand here and tell you, in bare and brutal honesty, that you have hurt me, Xanatos."

He lifted his head, surprised and wary, but read only authentic pain in Qui-Gon Jinn. Xanatos didn't know what to do with the unexpected revelation.

"Seeing my Padawan this way…." Qui-Gon paused, swallowing a visible swell of emotion, " is worse to me than death. You have taken the light from my life."

Xanatos felt a chill stir and roil in his gut. He never thought he would succeed in breaking Qui-Gon. He had longed for this very moment, dreamed of it, but he never expected it to be so…unsatisfying. "Then you finally know how I've felt since you cut down my father." He responded, though the words sounded hollow to his own ears.

"I know I cannot successfully appeal to you as a Jedi, or a friend, or a heartbroken man. But I cannot go back and face Obi-Wan without trying." Qui-Gon's brow was carved with deep creases and for the first time, he actually seemed older than the enigmatic Master who once trained Xanatos. "Obi-Wan withstood a memory wipe attempt when he was thirteen. How was this time so different, when he's had ten more years of training since then? The Temple healers are dumbfounded." At last, his voice cracked, and he gazed at Xanatos through a sheen of tears, "There must be something more we could do to help him."

Xanatos knew this was his moment to gloat. Qui-Gon Jinn was as helpless before him as a cowering squid on a platter, seconds away from begging at Xanatos' boots. Gone was the stalwart warrior of their shared past; love and fear had brought the proud man to him on this night of reckoning, to willingly place his heart in the hands of his sworn enemy.

The younger man blinked. Yes, it was love written on Qui-Gon's face, and it shone as a pure, uncomplicated beacon in the Force. Their own link had always been plagued by shadows and misunderstandings. He could never give himself completely over to the connection during his doomed Jedi training,

Obi-Wan Kenobi, however, assumed his role with confounding, natural ease. Xanatos had deluded himself for years into believing the boy would fail, just as he had.

But Obi-Wan had not faltered. Even mired by amnesia, Xanatos' successor was Qui-Gon Jinn's joy. His light.

Xanatos was only an embarrassment from another life, valued not even as an adversary. The realization came as an unbearable wave in the Force. "What do you want to know?" He whispered, fingertips coming to rest lightly on the table.

Qui-Gon walked towards him. "Where did the memory wipe take place? Who did it?"

Xanatos lifted his head and looked into the determined eyes. "What's it worth to you?"

The Master did not hesitate. "Everything."

Xanatos nodded, the expected answer nonetheless another pang in his stomach. The light glinted off the forgotten cloche and a slow, dawning smile stretched across his face. "Will you join me for evening meal, my former Master? And then I'll give you your answers."

He returned to his seat, gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

Qui-Gon's measured gaze moved from the table to Xanatos' face, but he warily lowered himself into the offered chair.

Xanatos lifted the lid. The blutig squid was sprawled in its death pose, tentacles bloated, watery purple blood now flooding the plate.

If Qui-Gon was at all nauseated by the fetid remains, it was carefully concealed beneath a bland expression. "I said no more games, Xanatos."

The one-time Jedi picked up the fork and knife beside the plate, and began dividing portions of the blutig's perhaps malignant flesh. "It's not a game." Xanatos corrected, taking the first bite. "It's dinner."


End file.
